INpoems.blog

My parents are both born in August. When the apples are ripe and the sun is thick like egg yolk. When life is a soft breeze at the pool.

62 years later my brother eventually became uncool. While my father’s garden is overgrown and my mom‘s is a little too clean.

Though I love my brother even more with his curls and dimples and because he’s just himself, I mean…

And even if she‘s not your child and they finally broke up when they just had us – they did the best they could!

But in August nothing changes. Just people at least trying. And people yet on holidays.